"You flatter me in not thinking me frivolous, and in
believing that I have enough resources within myself to be able to
live in solitude. It is perhaps my lot," she added, glancing at
Canalis, with an expression of pity.
"It is the lot of all insignificant fortunes," said the poet. "Paris
demands Babylonian splendor. Sometimes I ask myself how I have ever
managed to keep it up."
"The king does that for both of us," said the duke, candidly; "we live
on his Majesty's bounty. If my family had not been allowed, after the
death of Monsieur le Grand, as they call Cinq-Mars, to keep his office
among us, we should have been obliged to sell Herouville to the Black
Brethren. Ah, believe me, mademoiselle, it is a bitter humiliation to
me to have to think of money in marrying."
The simple honesty of this confession came from his heart, and the
regret was so sincere that it touched Modeste.
"In these days," said the poet, "no man in France, Monsieur le duc, is
rich enough to marry a woman for herself, her personal worth, her
grace, or her beauty--"
The colonel looked at Canalis with a curious eye, after first watching
Modeste, whose face no longer expressed the slightest astonishment.
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